


Harsher Realities Than These

by MistCover



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cocaine, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, F/F, F/M, Humanstuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-05 06:35:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/719980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistCover/pseuds/MistCover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vriska Serket is an addict taking her clothes off to continue to pay for her vices. Shenanigans enuse.<br/>(CURRENTLY ON HIATUS DUE TO THE AUTHOR SUDDENLY HATING HER WRITING)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“You’re onstage in five.” Dirk pokes his head in long enough to shout at me. As much as Dirk ever shouts. What he does is this steady drawl that says when he talks you better shut your whore mouth and listen. Usually, onstage means some kind of Shakespearian thing, maybe a musical. Or a one woman monologue, the kind that are put on by rich college girls so middle aged white women can go to them and think they’re so sophisticated and cool. Clap clap, how inspired, darling.

For me, it means that in five minutes I’m going to be taking off my dress for a bunch of strange men and grinding in their laps until they throw enough money at me to do the same damn thing tomorrow. Four, now. I mutter a ‘shit’ and rifle through my bag, squatting down and shoving both hands in until- there. A tin case, emblazoned with the characters from Peter Pan, expressing delight at being sprinkled with fairy dust. Yeah, I can feel you there. It makes me smile every damn time, even when the clock’s ticking and I find my hand mirror and my library card, my own smiling face looking back at me when I cut into my own magic. Fifty dollars buys me half an hour, tops, thinking about nothing in particular and moving fast enough to convince myself that maybe I’m the goddamn superhero of the day. 

Then, it’s time for me to go and I throw open the curtain, acting like I own the place. Which, in a way, is true. No girls means no cash means no club. My dress is disposed of in moments, discarded to the side to languish in it's faded-white despair. Stripping is a generous term for it, really, since any and all clothing is thrown away within moments of entering the throbbing lights reflecting off of the pole. I might catch a cool fifteen onstage but offstage, where the drinks are flowing and the three minute lap dances are twenty bucks a pop- that’s where the real money’s at. A couple of jumps and spins later, I’m on the floor, legs spread and wiggling my ass so that sweaty palms can stuff dollar bills in my crack.

I hop off the stage, locking eyes with my first ‘customer’. He’s balding, middle aged, the kind of fat that comes with decades of sitting on your ass. His shirt has a ‘witty’ slogan on it, something about how I should place my mouth on his dick to check how drunk I am. Uh-huh. Real classy. Dude’s waving a twenty, though, and looks like he’s got enough cash to keep me occupied. So on his sweatpants I go, flinging my arms around his neck and rubbing my thong-clad cunt on him while he pants and tries really hard not to touch me. Poor thing. Another perk of the job: if they touch me, Zahhak will kick their ass to the curb hard enough the poor slobs won’t be able to walk the next morning. I always tip him well at the end of the night; he spends his income on gourmet teas for his friend and archery equipment, not to mention his fancy-ass at-home gym. Never cusses, keeps his head down, that sort of guy. 

Speaking of, right now he’s checking the IDs of a three person group that just sauntered in. The shortest one, this little black haired twig of a boy, looks like he’s no more than sixteen. Evidently, however, they check out alright, being led onto the floor. The blonde doesn’t take off his shades, plopping his ass in a booth and doing that annoying ‘c’mere’ gesture to one of the waitresses. Twiggy sits like the chair contains a pressure sensitive bomb, and the third, a girl, wraps her arm around blondie too-cool-for-this and smiles this big, dumb smile at him. Jesus, girl, lay off a little, we get it, you loooooooove him. Shit, wait, he just nodded over at Dirk. Is this the kid brother I’ve been told so much about? The song ends and I climb off sweaty when he refuses to pop another twenty, sauntering over, swinging my hips. Twiggy swallows, his huge glasses bobbing on his nose.  
“This the Dave I’ve heard so much about?” I ask, voice low and sultry.  
“That’s the name, don’t wear it out.” Yeah, definitely a relative of Dirk’s, then. “The one, the only, Dave motherfucking Strider, ladies and gentlemen!” Girl smiles, rubbing her nose on his cheek. Gross.  
“Mmmmmmmm, and who are the friends?” Clock’s ticking, I should abandon these chumps and find someone else.  
“Jade and John, siblings and huge dorks.”  
“You’re the dork!” Jade smiles at him.  
“Don’t even hate,” he counters instantly, not breaking his fucking flat face. “And John here is looking for a dance. Think I could tempt you to provide?”  
“Oh God no!” John squeaks, glaring at Dave.

And then the younger Strider reaches into his pocket and pulls out a fifty dollar bill like it’s a handful of pocket change. Smiling, I take the cash, folding it and pulling aside my garter enough to slip the cash inside before climbing onto John. His eyes go wide as dinner plates, cock instantly hardening under his jeans. A newbie- that’s adorable. The next song starts and I am swirling myself on his lap, shoving my tits in his face when he opens his mouth to complain more.

“Get some!” Dave hollers, Jade kissing his cheek and signaling over one of my coworkers. She climbs into his lap, smiling over at me. I smile at her, and we lean in for one of the best moves that can be delivered- sloppy make outs. Another fifty finds its way into my underwear. That’s much more like it. Sucking this boy dry while he hoots and hollers at his friend is much more fun than floating from asshole to dirty asshole. 

“Is it someone’s birthdaaaaaaay?” I ask, rolling my hips forward across his clothed sex. John nods, swallowing hard. He’s practically a dear in headlights, hands clutching the sides of his chair, forehead breaking out in a thin sheen of sweat. 

“Yeah, thought I’d take him out for his big day. He is now a man! Well he’s been a man for a year but the dude needs to get out more, y’know?” His girlfriend is laying sloppy kisses on him when he pushes the other girl off his lap. The music swells and he has to shout to get his point across. “What, Egbert, you look like a frightened schoolgirl! Come on, relax, I’ve got a fuckload of cash to blow on you tonight- pun intended.” God, could his half smile get any douchier? Probably not. Nothing could be worse than his stupid giggle-snort-laugh thing. John, on the other hand, is cute in a geeky way, the kind of kid your dad would be happy to have you bring home to dinner. The kind of kid who pulled a solid 3.8 GPA, who did three different after school activities, who was a great friend. It’d be nice to be that kind of kid.

His time ends nearly three hundred dollars later, Dave shaking his head when I glance over. With a smile and a wink, I blow a kiss to the poor kid. Dirk gives me a slight nod when I head backstage. Obviously I’m not done for the evening, but there comes a time when the money needs to be emptied and the blow reapplied. Once satisfied, I sit for a moment, contemplating my next move in the cool room. The lights were giving me the worst sort of headache, too, the one that makes lesser women curse the Gods. The floor makes this gross sort of lurching motion, coming closer to me, and I blink a couple of times to set it straight. 

No, wait, that’s the floor actually making contact with my face.


	2. Give Me A World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vriska's woken up in strange houses before, but they've never been this clean.

Waking up is always an event for me. Half the time I have no clue where I am until I open my eyes, and the other half of time I’m somewhere I definitely don’t want to be. What little light that hits my shut eyes is burning, blinding even, so I take a quick stock of my other senses. My back doesn’t hurt and I’m definitely laying on a pillow. Score one for not being on the sidewalk somewhere. It doesn’t smell like blood or piss, which is always a good sign. If anything, it smells... lavenderesque? Is that even a word? Fuck it. It smells like lavender and soap and eggs. Wait, eggs? Not even rotten eggs, cooked eggs, the kind that yuppies eat on Sundays while reading the paper. There was no way in Hell I was trashed enough last night to actually go home with someone, was there? I move my legs and am all at once aware of how naked I am. Not that my working outfit is much better, but ending up naked in some strange bed is never good. Shit, this could go from being a pleasant surprise to a shit-eating disaster. I crack open one eye, the world going out of focus almost instantly. 

Where are my glasses, then? With a groan, I roll over in bed, my bag on the other end of a very nicely cleaned up room. It’s almost too sparse. If this is someone’s bedroom then they are dirt poor or lead a very boring life. The completely useless mystery thickens. I manage to crawl my way over to my bag, taking the sheets off of the bed with me, and rooting through it until- there! Glasses. The world sharpens again just in time for me to find my little Peter Pan tin and crack it open. Another fifty bucks down the tubes in moments, but the thick fog of sleep lifts off of me and I feel like I could at least be halfway functional, given ten minutes and a cup of coffee. Next step, finding out where I am. I stand, taking stock of the room around me. It smells and looks like lavender, soft purple walls and darker bedsheets I’ve dragged with me, curtains open enough to let sunlight pour in. There are posters for old B movies, video games that came out years ago. A chest in the corner is painted with big yellow stars and locked shut. Wood dresser drawers are pulled open and men’s clothes show themselves, more or less stuffed inside. The nightstand displays one single lamp, not even a nice lamp, the cheap ones you can get at Target or whatever. The closet is bare, save one dress wadded in the corner. It’s black, purple fabric sticking out at one point, which is the only reason I could see it in the first place. Riiiiiiiight. That isn’t creepy at all or anything. So, mystery room, mystery house, bag. That’s... there are worse places to start, I guess? I pace across the small confines, thinking about what to do next. I could exit the room and see whose house I ended up in. I could stay here until whoever it is comes looking for me. I could try to sneak out and find the front door fast enough that they didn’t notice I left. Nah. If they went to all the trouble of taking me home, I owe them at least one good sneer before I leave. Who would it be, anyways? There was only the one kid I danced for, Dorky McGlasses or whatever his name was. Dirk’s bro was the one paying, right? So, it’s probably him or the incredible huge glasses boy. Not that the younger Strider was any less annoying in the eyewear department. Shades in a strip club- who does that, besides Dirk? And Dirk only gets a pass because he’s rad anyways. Out of those two, who would have a suspiciously empty room? 

Footsteps, right outside. I freeze, turning around and preparing to face whoever ended up with a free stripper for the night. Knocking. Whoever it is, they have the courtesy to knock.  
“Yeah, what?” I say.

“Just wondering if you were up, jeez.” So it is the non-Strider. The door rattles and opens and he takes stock of me, wrapped in the sheets of the bed. He flushes, averting his eyes, and wraps his arms around his chest. “The things you were wearing last night are in the bag. Dave managed to find some of Rose’s old stuff so you can wear that if you wanted something a bit more substantial.” He nods to the foot of the bed, a pile of neatly folded clothes. “If you’re hungry, there’s food in the kitchen. Eat whatever.” He shuffles on his feet, obviously anxious to leave me alone. “So... whenever you feel like getting up.” He leaves, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

The clothes provided turn out to be a black t-shirt, and an equally dark skirt that only falls down to my knees but is obviously meant for someone much shorter. Nothing fancy, but it covers me enough to poke my head out of the door, looking down a narrow hallway. The door across the hall is cracked open, revealing a much more messy bedroom. At one end of the hall I hear a shower running, and on the other, a TV babbles about the newest skincare product from God only knows. I walk towards the food, not making any effort to be quiet or subtle, bursting into the living room with the same attitude I burst onto the stage. 

The room is smaller than I thought it would be. A TV, a couch, a bookshelf, with maybe a dozen books on it, and twice as many empty bottles of apple juice. Plants grow on all available windowsills, opening their green leaves to the sun. Another step and I stumble on a plush toy of a too-happy squid in vivid pink. It squeaks in glee when I step on it. A line of similarly brightly colored toys is kept mashed together with what looks like a shitty sword right through their fluff hearts.

Jade turns to investigate who tripped, screeching as soon as she sees me and jesusfuckingshit why the Hell do you have to be so loud? Her eyes are magnified by circular lenses, or maybe her eyes have just gone wide in shock. Ah! A whore! I roll my eyes at her, walking into the “kitchen” (corner) and investigating the pan on the stove. Eggs, with bacon. I rifle through drawers, looking for a fork, and grab the pan off the stove, because finding a plate would be a hassle. The other girl stares at me from ten feet away, in the ‘living room’ area.  
“You’re alive! Holy crap I thought you had died or something and then Dave said we’re taking you home and I thought, no way, where will she sleep, but John put you in his bed and now you’re awake!!!” She’s way, way too enthusiastic for morning, bouncing in her seat.  
“Whatever.” I say through a mouthful of eggs. She frowns. Oops. 

“Come on, be less of a grump.” She reaches behind her, pulling her dark hair up into a ponytail. “You can stay, too. John’s been nothing but a big mopey baby and Dave’s been busy with his screenplay and I’m all alone most of the time.”  
“Do you wanna be friends with me?” Not worth my time. I’ve got big, important things to do, okay not really but I can dream, right? “Because that’s the dumbest idea I’ve heard all week and I listen to lonely married men bitch about their wives for a living.” Jade gives me the best look of pure contempt I’ve ever seen.

“Well not if you’re gonna be a big complainer about it.” Who are these people, anyways? I was so wrapped up in the eggs and the orgy of disembowled plushie I didn’t hear the shower turn off, and Dave emerges into the living room/kitchen x2 combo wearing only a towel around his waist. He looks me up and down, completely unimpressed with the clothing I’m wearing.  
“So you’ve taken a liking to my sister’s clothes.” He pushes his white hair out of almost painfully red eyes, pursing his lips. “Whatever, that’s cool, it’s not like that’s sacred territory or anything.”

“John let her borrow them.” Jade butts in, turning and propping herself up on her knees to face Dave. “Don’t be like that.” Her words for the first time are actually stern. Girl’s got attitude when she wants to. One more notch of respect is added to her in my mind. The boy nods, and speak of the devil, John opens the front door, and all three of us swivel to stare at him. He smiles nervously, huge front teeth prominent in his mouth.

“Gross, dude, get some clothes on, there are ladies present!” He frowns, flinging mail down on the couch. He eyes me, and I put down the pan. Wait, since when do I do things because people give me funny looks? “Good, you ate something. I can help you find a bus to get you back to wherever you live. I have bus passes too.” Kid’s sweet, that’s for sure.  
“Everyone present has seen the junk in my trunk or has seen enough junk not to give a shit.” Dave shrugs, disappearing into what is presumably his and Jade’s bedroom. A look is exchanged between Jade and John and she absconds as well, leaving me alone with lap dance boy.

“So. Thanks, I guess.” I play it cool, leaning against the counter.  
“Yeah. You collapsed and when Dirk found you he told Dave to take you home because he still had two hours to play, and so he and Jade and I kind of gathered your stuff and took you home. I slept on the couch.” He glances down and away, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “Go get your stuff and I’ll show you the bus stop.” 

I do as he told me to, another near-first, and go to the bedroom I slept in, gathering my things, debating whether or not to ‘top off’ before I got home. Probably not, since the only real bank I made last night was from this poor kid. When I saunter back into his view, he gestures to the door. 

“So what’s the deal with all of you living in this one place? I mean, I know money can be tighter than a virgin asshole, but you seem like fine, upstanding people.” I walk out the proffered door, falling behind him in step when he exits himself.

“Oh! Jade is my sister, and Dave’s always been my best bro, and his sister’s cool too. So Jade and Dave started dating and I started dating Rose back in high school and when it was over we just decided to all get a place together while we figured things out. Dave’s working on his big screenplay and DJs at Bar Mitzvahs and stuff, Jade’s... I don’t know what Jade’s up too, really, she’s taking classes but everything looks so hard and I’ve kind of been working at IHOP for now, cooking.” He says the last part like he’s embarrassed, running his hand through the back of his hair.

“I take my clothes off and grind on people for money, don’t be a freak out about your job. Pancakes and eggs is like, at least eight steps above that.” He cracks a smile, then, and I smile back at him.  
“Sure, if you say so. I mean, being paid for being hot is kind of awesome.” He shuts himself up instantly, one hand over his mouth, and I laugh.  
“No, no, you’re allowed to think I’m hot. Frankly, I am.” I wiggle my ass at him and he flinches away. “Alright, cool.” I shrug at him again. Lots of shrugging today it would seem.  
“Bus stop!” He yelps, eager to change the subject. “This will take you to the station, or all the way down to one hundred and fifth and Cherry.” He hands me a stack of bus passes, at least twenty, and a ten dollar bill. A bus begins to make its way towards us, and he glances to either side. “See you around?” He looks... almost sad.  
“You know where I work.” I wink at him, and the bus pulls up, and I climb on and into one of the shitty, scratchy seats.

John is staring at me as we pull away, and he doesn’t move until I’m almost completely out of sight, my nose pressed against the glass to watch him, watching me.


	3. Tuesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another encounter in the same club. 
> 
> Sidenote: My beta was on a trip to the other side of the country when I wrote this, so it is only edited by myself and very lightly by her in what little we could get in.

A couple nights later I’m back at work. I took a day or two off, so sue me, the manager needs me, there are men who come to see Vriska Serket on the stage. And in their laps. So really, what is it to him if I take a night off? It’s a loss of goddamn money, but he’d lose more if he let me go. Plus, the Egbert kid- I couldn’t stop thinking about him in this fucked-up way. Like, he’s a sweet kid, right? I could see him finding some broad and settling down and being, you know, a normal kid again. Does that mean I want to be that broad? Hell, no! Well... no, definitely not, stop thinking such crazy things.

“You doin’ okay there?” Dirk asks me when I waltz in, half an hour before we open. “Took a bad tumble back there. My bro said you were fine but he’d say you were fine if you were dead, prick doesn’t actually care too much about the girls I work with.”  
“Yeah. I’m cool, I’m cool, just hit my head. Had a nasty bump for a day there, didn’t want to work looking like an extra from a B-rated horror film.” He nods at this, leaning against the bar, all long, wiry limbs. There are two reasons he was hired to DJ. One, he’s a great musician, great at what he does. Two, he’s a fine specimen of the male sex, even with those fucking stupid anime shades he insists on wearing. Thin, tall, muscled but not bulky, a perfectly styled head of blond hair and this strong, triangular chin. Apparently he trained in some kind of sword fighting art form martial thing when he was little, and Dave’s been taught the same, and damn does it show. He could have any of the girls here, whenever he wanted, we’d be all over him in seconds. He’s also gay as the day is long, and so the boss gets a double- no, triple whammy. Great DJ, keeps an eye on us, doesn’t fuck us against the wall before or after. Which is kind of a drawback for me. 

“Right, of course. Just checking in.” He finishes his drink, which is almost never alcoholic, almost always that gross off-brand orange soda, the kind you buy for like six bucks a twelve pack. “You’re on first tonight.” And with that, he’s gone, not so much as a second glance in my direction, settling himself behind his booth and fiddling with dials.

Tuesday night, up first. That means the money will be scant, just a few committed regulars and the occasional scared gaggle of eighteen year old boys who almost never pay for shit. God fucking damn it all to hell and back. To make up for my incredibly justified disappointment, I pre game like there’s no tomorrow, snorting line after line until my veins feel fiery and my brain crackles inside my skull. I enter the blazing stage lights in a haze of giddy excitement, ready to rock this place to the ground.

So I dance, and I ignore the shitty tips on stage, and I wiggle my ass like it’s the last time I will ever wiggle my ass. 

And when I hop off to go see who has arrived that I can pick, who do I see but John, standing nervously with a little plastic bag clutched with both hands. He keeps glancing to his sides, like someone’s about to bust in and scold him for being in a strip club. He signals me to come over with a sort of bag-wave and I head to him, glancing my fingertips over one of my favorite familiar faces, and one of the only faces here. It’s a kind of a placeholder, a quarter plunked on top of Ms. Pac Man. Next play’s mine. The regular looks to me in disappointment as I leave him for John, and I wink at him, and mouth ‘one minute’, all hot breath and promises and he is enamored. Vriska’s leaving the goofy kid for me! I must be special! I can hear him in my head and it’s pathetic, really. Once I tear myself away from him, John’s standing stock-still, waiting for me. I cross over to him, standing what is probably uncomfortably close for him.

“John, what the fuck?” I keep my tone down, glancing behind me. Dirk doesn’t stop playing, but he does quirk an eyebrow.  
“You left your bra at my place, asshole.” John hisses, passing me the bag.  
“I can’t fucking take that right now! Go put it backstage. I’ll be done here in like twenty minutes and then I’ll meet you.” I shove the bag back at him, then glide my way over to my one and only customer, straddling him with smooth motions and he grins the most shit eating grin.

As predicted, the man I had claimed runs dry in just under twenty five minutes, and the other three girls who were scheduled are doing a fine job picking at the remains of the other assorted pocketbooks, so I duck backstage, giving Dirk the hand signal for ‘I swear to God if I don’t have a cigarette I am going to punch a hole through the skull of the next asshole I see.’

“Alright, I’ve got like five minutes, tops, and I need to refill my supply of giving a fuck.” Poor kid just hands me the bag, shifting from foot to foot.  
“You don’t have to be so rude, you know.” He’s looking right at me, despite obviously being uncomfortable doing so. I resist the urge to roll my eyes.  
“You don’t have to be so afraid to touch a bra.” He flushes.  
“I just thought you wouldn’t want me to get my hands all over your underthings.” Good retort. He’s had practice, then. Lots of it.  
“Whatever, thanks for my clothing back. Why do you give so many shits about me, anyways? Like, you could have dropped the goods and ran, or kicked me out of your house at the crack of dawn, or hell, refused to feed me. Not that I didn’t want you to or anything, just. What’s your deal?” John glances down and away from me for a moment, before looking at me again.  
“I went through your bag.” Oh, fuck. “And I’ll spare you the lecture because I know asking an addict to stop won’t stop them. But it’s not- you don’t have to. You can crash with me or whatever if you ever decide to call it quits.” So this kid, this barely adult, living on scraps and working at IHOP, cares because I like blow? What a bleeding heart, but a sweet guy. A sweetly bleeding heart.  
“That’s nice of you and all, but I don’t have a problem. And you don’t really know me, you don’t know how much I’ve been doing or how little. Take care of yourself. Don’t try to save random whores you find in strange clubs.” Fairly standard speech for a fairly standard problem, young men who think they can swoop in and ‘save me’ from myself. Whatever. They usually don’t take me home, but that’s just an extra wrinkle.

“You and I both know that was a prepared little talk to throw me off the scent.” John crosses his arms, looking at me dead on.  
“Even if it was, it’s still none of your business.” I glare right back at him.  
“Consider it, at least?” He looks at me and it’s flat-out adorable, these big front teeth in a worried little smile and his eyes looking too big from the magnification of his glasses.  
“Yeah, whatever, if it makes you stop bugging me. I gotta get back on the floor.” I brush past him, walking to the door back to the main floor. The night isn’t completely lost yet; with a little luck I may be able to scrape together a couple hundred bucks for myself to take home, or nearly five hundred total. Getting back into the show after a couple unscheduled days off is bad enough, but to be put for the worst slot on the worst day is just flat out cruel. I’d talk to my boss if he wouldn’t flip ten varieties of bitch at me for daring to question his wise and eternal decree, so whatever. Talking to this kid is wasting time I don’t have.  
“Don’t leave!” His voice is a squeak for a second, and I stop at the doorway, looking back to him. What is his deal?  
“You know where to find me. Hell, ask Dave for my working schedule or something, come visit me.” I raise my eyebrows at him.  
“I just... I think you could do more. You’re smart and cool and could probably go places if you wanted to.” He’s looking at me, a sort of direct challenge. And then, all at once, like a ton of bricks- I realize why he’s here, why he didn’t hand it off to Dirk or Dave, why he stuck around for twenty minutes while I exercised loose morals.

“Who was it?” I ask, all sweetness and honey dripping from my voice. It’s come to a point where I can’t tell how much is sincere and how much isn’t. “Obviously someone you cared about a whole fuckload to be trying to come in and talk me down from my wretched and villainous ways.” His mouth opens and closes, and for a moment I don’t think he’s going to answer, or dodge completely.  
“An ex.” It’s as simple as that and the pieces click together. The clothes being called ‘sacred territory’, the suspiciously sparse bedroom, the way Dave didn’t once mention his sister and John leapt at the chance to bring her up, even when he really, really didn’t have to.  
“She clean now?” This is getting too pushy, even for him, probably, but I’m curious.  
“Yeah. Yeah, she is, completely clean, living with her mom for now and- we would have invited her back to stay with us, at least I would have, but Dave got pretty mad about it and Jade went along with his plan and so.” He trails off, leaving me to contemplate what little there is to contemplate. An addict ex girlfriend, his best bro’s sister. So now he’s trying to come in and help me out to atone for what he thinks is his own sin. He deserves a little bit of a break, at least.  
“I’ll keep that in mind.” And with that I’m back on the floor, leaving him for a second time to stare at me as I go.

The rest of the night is a blur. I think about John, which is stupid as hell. He tries really hard and if I wasn’t me I would love to get to know him, but I know that’s a dangerous game. Best to stay away. My mind is wandering enough that I barely pay attention to my work, but all the same I miraculously manage to have enough to take home so I don’t feel like it was a complete waste of my time. A hundred and forty three dollars. Not bad for a Tuesday night.


	4. Crimes of Caring and Cooking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a month since Vriska has seen John, and she decides to do a little grocery shopping.

I almost manage not to obsess. John floats into my mind at the worst possible times. When I’m dancing for peanuts on the pole he’s there. During my less chaste moments in private rooms with men who drool over my form, he’s in the corner, looking awkwardly around and over his shoulder, waiting for me to finish. When I shower, he’s in the steam with me, his eyes smaller without his glasses and his hair slicked down by the running water. Every line of coke is punctuated by his face when he told me about his ex, the pain in them. At every turn I push him out, shaking my head. _He’s nothing to you, nothing at all. You don’t even know the stupid boy._ Maybe if I pulled myself together, he’ll leave my mind. Not all the way together, just enough that it’s not so fucking obvious I have no idea what I’m doing.

So it’s a Sunday, a month since I last saw his face. For regular human beings, this is known as grocery day. Probably. It doesn't matter. There’s been maybe a dozen times I’ve ever found myself under the florescent lighting of normal humanity, and I put on my best ‘I know exactly what I am doing’ face, pushing the metal cart of responsibility down aisle after aisle. So far, it contains a few packs of gum. I consider the frozen meals they offer, shrug, and grab one of those family of ten sized frozen pizzas, as well. What else do normal, regular adults eat? Probably fruit. I turn, wheeling myself over to the fresh produce section, lost in thought. What was it I like, anyways? Do I like grapes? Apples? I vaguely remember this peanut butter and apple dip thing that I liked a lot as a little kid. Probably just literally apples dipped in peanut butter. The large displays of colorful greens and reds and yellows don’t yield up any apples on a cursory glance, however, which is dumb as hell. Why wouldn’t a grocery store have fucking -apples- it is a goddamn -staple fruit- of-

My cart crashes directly into someone’s ass. Shit. I’m about to open my mouth and try to be genuinely nice when I say sorry, because holy shit I don’t want a confrontation with a soccer mom or some single dad or whoever the fuck shops on a Sunday afternoon when they turn around, looking pained and holy shit it’s John abort grocery mission abort.

He stares at me.

I stare at him.

The grocery’s music changes from something nice and calm to Call Me Maybe and I want to punch something. Fucking John, what the fuck gives you the right to come in and shop at the same store at the same time as me. Don’t you know how hard I’ve been working to push your stupid face out of my head? He looks... oh, hell. His eyes are red and puffy and nearly shut and there’s streaks of tears drying on his cheeks. Pale hands grip his cart like it’s the only thing between him and a shark tank and he’s trembling, just slightly.

“Did I hurt you that bad?” It’s a bad tease, and he sniffs, gross and loud and snotty. He shakes his head.

“I’m fine.” Liar. I peek my head into his cart. Lettuce and cabbage and peas and broccoli and red peppers and it is a produce-centered explosion. He, in turn, angles his eyes into what I’m buying. “Are you having a party tonight with your buddies?”

“No. Just...” wait, how the hell do I explain this? “Didn’t have any food at home.” He glances at me, skeptically, and I can almost see him puzzling through something in his mind.

“Do you want to have dinner with me?” His voice is smaller than I remember it being, and choking back tears. “And Dave and Jade, duh, I mean, not like a date or anything dumb like that.” Out of all the things I expected from a crying John, a dinner offer is not one of them. As a matter of fact, a dinner offer is at the very bottom of the list of things I thought would come out of his mouth.

“Yeah? Sure?” Wait, no, no, what the fuck? I roll one eyebrow up and he almost visibly winces so I slam it right back down again. “What’re you making?” He’s walking to checkout now, quickly with tiny steps and I ditch the cart of chewing gum and pizza and follow him. He doesn’t speak up until we’re situated in line, pulling out his wallet.

“Mac and cheese.” He flashes a half-hearted smile my way. The contents of his cart officially make no sense, now. I nod and his smile drops, swiping his card and paying without breaking into a cold sweat like I would have no doubt done. All of that food going to waste, I think.

After that, he falls into his thoughts, which is fine by me because it means I don’t have to make inane small talk. He leads me to his car, this beat up old family sedan that smells faintly of smoke and shaving cream and something sweet I can’t quite place my finger on.

“Do you mind if I smoke in here?” I ask, pulling a pack out of my purse.

“What? Oh, yeah, sure. Go ahead.” He shakes himself from his thoughts long enough to respond. I light my cigarette and drag deeply, letting it sit in my lungs for a good few seconds before it spills out through my nose and soaks the air around us. He rolls down the windows. “Do you work tonight?” Maybe he’s hoping for an excuse for me to leave, ask to be dropped at a bus station somewhere. In response, I shake my head.

“I’m off till Thursday. The water line burst or something and basically the entire club is sitting in two inches of gross, so everyone’s gone until the place is cleaned and ready to roll again. My boss is flipping the fuck out, too, so I’m not going to ask him for shit until this is all sorted.” I make an effort to blow smoke out of the window, through the side of my mouth. John’s obviously just humoring me here, and it’s not like I’m -that- inconsiderate a bitch.

“Oh. Do you get paid for the days you’re forced to miss?” He sounds genuinely curious, which is new.

“Fuuuuuuuuck no! Are you kidding me? They don’t even pay me at all, it’s all the customers who come in who fund me.” I laugh at him. He wipes a fresh tear from his cheek with his sleeve.”

“How do you make enough to live, then?”

“You were there, you saw how expensive my goddamn attentions are. After tipping Dirk and giving the joint its cut, I still have plenty left over.” Well, plenty if I didn’t spend it all on blow and cigarettes, that is. We fall into uncomfortable silence after that. I finish smoking and toss the still burning butt out the window. John clears his throat, turns on the radio. I have half a mind to ask why he was crying but decide against it. Best to let some things stay secret and all that.

We pull into his apartment complex and he turns off the car and I exit the vehicle and we both stand in the elevator, not really looking at each other or talking. He holds his bags with a vice grip and I tap my fingers on my purse. This was a horrible idea. This has to be one of the top ten most awful ideas I’ve ever had. When he opens his door the living room is quiet, no one sitting on the couch, the TV shut off, no water running or the soft sounds of someone sleeping in the next room over.

“The other two went to see a movie. Really, Dave went to see some shitty action flick and dragged Jade along.” He explains before I can ask. I nod and plop down on the couch, trying to look as cool and relaxed as possible. Yeah, I get invited over to almost-stranger’s houses all the time for dinner. This is what adults do.

John has already set to work, washing his greens and tying on an apron. He glances to me over his shoulder, pulling out a knife from a drawer without looking, which is pretty bat shit crazy. “You can watch TV or whatever, if you want. Do you want something to drink?” I can see him trying to be a good host and it would be adorable if I didn’t want to run out of here and go home.

“I’m good.” I reply, finding the remote and flipping it on and nothing, as per usual. I don’t really pay attention to the boring shit on the screen. Instead, I listen to John. He cooks efficiently, focused entirely on what he’s doing. Water simmers, then boils. He chops up something and puts something else in the boiling water at the same time as sliding another pan onto the stove, which hisses and sizzles until he pours milk in and stirs. I flip off the TV, bored of pretending to watch it, and walk to John. “Why were you crying? You don’t have to tell me or whatever but seriously did I slam you that bad?”

He shakes his head. “Want some juice?”

“Ooooooookay?” He shuffles through the fridge, popping out little cardboard boxes of apple juice, of all things, the kind you’d pack in a kid’s lunch. He hands me one, and takes his sweet time peeling the straw loose on his, fighting with the little foil seal the straw is meant to be poked through. Minutes tick by, him wrestling with his juice and failing to look at me while I sip. It’s tart and sweet all at once, a taste I last remember from field trips in elementary school. “So, do you want to tell me or not?”

“It’s nothing. I just went to see Rose this morning.” Well, that explains a lot. I raise my eyebrows, contemplating.

“Your addict ex,” I clarify, almost instantly regretting it. Be nice to him, I remind myself. Shit’s heavy.

“Yeah. It’s been a while since I said hi so I thought I should. I mean, what are friends for?” He takes the smallest drink of his juice imaginable.

“She yell at you or something?” I ask, pumping the straw up and down between two fingers, letting it squeak against the sides of the box. “Because seeing a friend shouldn’t be a time to cry like a bitch.”

“What? No, it’s just th-”

The door to the apartment slams open, laughter following.

“Bro oh my God that movie was shit it was so awful you wouldn’t fucking believe it it was like Snakes on a Plane meets Nic Cage level horrible, for real, and I got the worst popcorn and we brought it home for you if you want to snack while you’re cooking you’re cooking right?” Dave monologues, sauntering inwards. I squeak my straw again. “Wait a second. Wait just a hot second did I just hear apple juice? Are you drinking my AJ? Dude, not cool.” Clothing is being shuffled, probably jackets, and Jade pokes her head around the corner.

“Hi, Jo-” she sees me and her face goes from goofy, too-big smile to flat in 1/4th of a second.

“Hn.” Dave finishes the name for her. “What’s going on, is everything okay?” The okay jumps in pitch halfway through and he rounds the corner and shrieks, high pitched, and tosses the popcorn, leaping away from me. “What the fuck?” He asks, looking at me like I committed a sin against God by drinking his precious juice boxes. “I thought you were off visiting.”

“I ran into Vriska at the store and offered to make her dinner, dude.” He looks at the two of them, daring them to say a word. “Which, by the way, is ready.”

“John! We already talked about this, you can’t just bring new people in all the time, especially not-”

“I swear Jade if you finish that sentence-”

“Do not threaten my girlfriend!”

“She’s MY sister, dickweed!”

“Just shut. Up!” Jade yells at the two of them, moving to stand between them. “This is fine. We’re going to have a nice dinner with John’s new friend. We need to meet new people, anyways!” She smiles, glancing at me with what can only be describes as a death glare.

Dinner is served in tense silence. We sit on the couch, staring awkwardly at each other. The mac n cheese turns out to be made with bell peppers and broccoli and garlic oil, which is fucking delicious, in addition to a mixed salad. It’s probably the best meal I’ve had, well, ever, and I waste no time in eating, not daring to speak before they do.

“So, why’d you bring her home?” Jade asks. Dave glares at her for it.

“Vriska is a very nice young lady if you take a single second to get to know her.” John glares in return, before smiling to me. I stare, wide eyed, and put more food in my mouth to prevent some smart ass response.

“Right.” Dave says, back into his dinner, “not that we’ve had problems with addicts before or anything.” I bristle and John slams down his bowl.

“You will be nice to our guest.” He says, but I’m already standing, mostly empty bowl set on the coffee table.

“No. He doesn’t want a cokehead in his house, I get it. I get why that would be a sensitive subject. Can’t save them all, can you?” He looks at me and the color drains from his cheeks. That was low.

I’ve made my way to elevator without so much as a goodbye before Jade catches up to me, stops me.

“He likes you. I’m sorry Dave’s being a dick. Will you be back sometime?” She asks, looking at me.

“He shouldn’t like me, and I’m glad your boyfriend hates me. All your lives could be massively improved by not knowing me.” I shrug her off, hold open the elevator with one hand. “Sorry for being there when you came home. Have a nice life.” I keep my tone cold and flat, the doors closing in her face.

My home feels cold and empty when I make it back, slamming the door shut behind me and flinging myself onto my mattress and trying very, very hard not to cry. Who the fuck does this boy think he is? Why the fuck do I have any sort of emotion towards him whatsoever? What gives him the gall to fucking shop at the same time as me? I scream, and shuffle through my piles of stuff, Peter Pan box coming quickly to hand. Just enough to take the edge off, I think, just enough.

I don’t remember the rest of the night.


	5. Swing All, Say I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meetup at the library and a suggestion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about this being so late- school needed attention, and this fic had to be put on hold. But now we're BACK, baby!

Normal adults doing normal adult things seems to be the theme for my life, now. Or at least it is trying to be. I’m still snorting coke, sure, but I’m grocery shopping. I made a cake a few days ago, even, and it fucking sucked but it was food I had made with my own damn hands and that has to count for something, right? John would be proud.

And there he is, again. Always with John. So, he rubbed off on me a little bit. He gives a shit about me, so it might not be horrible to give a shit about what he might think in return. It got me out of the house more often, at least.

And to the library. In the last month I had burned my way through more than a dozen books on pirates and adventure, flipping pages backstage until I heard Dirk bark for me to get on stage. It had been years since I had read, really read. But this level of bizarre reading takes books and like hell was I going to spend my paychecks on books, of all the shitty luxury items I could buy. So I spent a lot of time in the library. I had made friendly with one of the librarians, even, and he always had a book recommendation or ten for me. Again, people giving a shit about Vriska Serket. Or, rather, giving a shit about me when I’m not grinding on their laps.

It’s a Wednesday and I am at the library, again. I work tonight, which is super godamn lame, but if nothing else I’ll have something to read while I count my pathetic haul. Walking into the musty old building, Jake looks up from his desk at me, grinning ear to ear.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite exploring gal!” He beams directly at me, getting up and walking towards me. “I was just helping another fine young fellow, in fact! Maybe the books you are surely here to return will come in handy to him.” He winks at me, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes and elbow him.

“Yeah, yeah. Here’s what I had.” Keeping my voice down, I shove the stack of books at him and he nods, moving back to drop them on his desk. They land with a thud and a shuffle of paper. A nearby woman glances at Jake and myself. He turns back to me, ignoring her completely.

“We can fix you up with something else! I swear, Vriska, we might not have enough books to keep you occupied!” He says my name and someone drops a heavy book onto the floor and almost gasps.

Jake and I turn around at the same time.

John looks directly at me.

“And this is the lad I was helping earlier.” Jake looks perturbed, scrambling over to pick up the book John had dropped. He continues to stare, and I continue to stare back. “I take it you know each other?”

“Yeah, we do.” John says it like he’s in a daze, which make no sense. Hello, Earth to Egbert, I’m a real person. We’ve had dinner together.

“Hey, John.” I keep myself neutral, and he cracks into the barest hint of a smile.

“Hey, Vriska. It’s been a while since- I’m sorry Dave’s a complete and utter dickwad.” Jake looks to him, and me, and decides the best thing to do would be to scurry off, leaving us alone, at the front of the library. “We should hang out more. I’ve been hoping you’d drop by, actually.”

_You really shouldn’t_ , I think. _You really shouldn’t spend time with me, because I am a coke addict and you are a young man with infinite promise in the world._

“Sure. Do you want my number or what?” He nods, and pulls out his cellphone from his pocket. It is warm and I fuck up entering my number four times before it enters, and pass it back to him, along with my phone, hastily yanking my own piece of shit phone out of my purse. He enters his number, passing it back to me, and then we stand there for a few minutes, waiting for something to happen. Some kind of sign, I guess, to talk to each other, but nothing comes out. “So, what have you been up to?” It’s a weird thing for me to say, too vulnerable, too interested.

“Work, mostly. I mean, Dave’s bro helps us with rent and shit, and sometimes he gets gigs to DJ, but with Rose gone it’s been kind of hard to make everything work. Jade has some money from her grandpa, I think, but mostly it’s just been me and Dave keeping us above water.” He shrugs it off like it’s no big deal and I nod.

“If shit wasn’t so raw between Dave and I, I’d offer to come help out. I’m living in a crap joint, anyways.” Wait, what the fuck? Did I just offer to move in with him? He looks stunned, and I need to do some serious backtracking. “Not that I’m offering to live with a stranger or any bullshit, just if you needed the cash, it’s not like I’m hurting for it.” Sometimes, anyways.

“That’s really nice of you, but I don’t really know you. You’re just some girl I met once and you seem kind of nice and you seem like you would be a good friend but I just don’t know you.”

“I feel like I’ve known you forever.” What. The. Fuck. I close my mouth and look away just as Jake returns, armfuls of books almost eclipsing his thick glasses.

“I found some prime titles for the both of you! Vriska, you’re probably ready for the classics- Treasure Island, to start. John, I got the next in that wizarding series for you, along with a couple of newer titles that you’ll definitely get a real kick out of.” He smiles at the pair of us, walking over to the checkout counter and plopping down my book and John’s stack. I look at John, mouth ‘wizarding’? He shakes his head. The machine beeps as Jake runs the novels through, and I cross my arms, waiting. Jake keeps talking, about how much I will absolutely love this book he’s checked out for me and how much John will love the books he’s picked out for them and how he can’t wait to get back to adventuring himself and really, it’s just all filling space.

He hands me the novel, receipt tucked neatly into the pages. John’s pile follows shortly after, the taller boy having no problem balancing them.

“Come back soon, you two!” He chirps, and I nod at him. John and I walk out in silence.

“So you’ll text me?” He asks, and I shrug.

“I guess.”

“You don’t have to act so indifferent.”

“Well, fucking sorry! But seriously, I will text you.” John nods at me and looks to his car, and opens the passenger side door with one arm, flinging his books in the backseat. With a sweeping motion, he offers me the seat, looking at me like he expects me to take it. I slide in, glancing at him.

“Do you want to get coffee or something?” He asks.

“No, I’m fine, really. I have to get to work in a couple hours, like a total chump. I mean, a Wednesday! It’s like my manager wants me to starve.”

“Maybe it’s time to move on.” He keeps his eyes trained ahead, turning aggressively.

“Eh, maybe. Turn right.” I instruct and he looks to me. “I said I need to work, dork. If you took me home I would have ten minutes then I would have to be at the bus stop anyways.” He nods to me. “And a left here, then about five miles.”

“Do you even like working where you do?”

“Yeah. It pays really fucking well.”

“But do you like it? I mean, seriously, do you enjoy... what you do?” “Sure. It’s not the best thing but I’ve heard of lots of stupid shit to do. Some people sell drugs, or mop floors. Some assholes have to clean the wank stains out of porn booths.”

“I guess that makes sense.” The town goes from respectable to seedy in eight seconds flat, the buildings just as maintained, but the feeling changing drastically. Stores here advertise adult entertainment, smoke shops, all manner of underground clothing and accessories for less vanilla bedroom activities. It’s not like I work in a shithole or anything, but no one could really mistake it for a respectable live show. John pulls into the back lot, and I open the door, and lean down to poke my head through.

“Thanks for the ride. I’ll text you.”


	6. Neverland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vriska and John spend time together- on purpose! (How did that even happen?)

I did text him, after that. I text him that night mostly just to get his pesterchum handle. I ignore him after that, considering my Peter Pan box, laid neatly on top of my ‘respectable’ attire. A week’s worth of blow stares back at me, hidden by the grinning faces of Wendy and Tinkerbell. The metal is worn, paint breaking off near the latch from constant use. One corner is dented in, flakes of rust beginning to show, brown specks on the blue-black night sky.

For the first time, I consider if it’s worth it. I mean, yeah, I thought of stopping before- mostly after nasty nose bleeds where the blood gums in my throat and makes everything taste metallic for a week. Or when the cravings start and I have to ride a stranger’s cock, watching him stuff more money in my bra with every downstroke. But it never seemed like a worthwhile investment. I’m managing, I tell myself, over and over again. I am managing my addic- habit in the best way I know how. I’m rarely incoherent, and I’m rarely over the top. I manage.

My phone pings at me again, John asking if I’m alright.

The box gets stuffed beneath my clothes. Maybe tomorrow.

Maybe tomorrow turns into later that evening, inhaling half of what I normally would because fucking hell I am going to to punch someone and then die if I don’t keep myself controlled. Which is fine. I’m under control. Everything is under control. 

I earn two hundred dollars that night, almost exactly. 

John pesters me at ten the next day.

EB: hey.  
EB: work cancelled on me today, do you want to do something?  
AG: Why the hell not?  
EB: i dunno, that’s why i’m asking!  
AG: No, I mean, let’s do something.  
EB: what do you want to do?  
AG: You’re the one who invited me in the first place!  
EB: right. fuck.  
EB: we could go bowling?   
AG: Sure, let’s go 8owling.  
AG: *Bowling.  
AG: Old habit.   
EB: ....okay.

We go bowling. He teaches me how to swing my arm just so, body angled next to mine, too-clean shoes squeaking on the polished wood floor.

That weekend, we go to a park near his house and eat lunch. He says he’s worried I’m not getting enough vegetables. I tell him I’m fine. And then he smiles at me, he smiles at me over and over again, making faces out of cherry tomatoes and hats out of folded lettuce leaves. 

I pull out all my old roleplaying books for him, dusting off the surfaces of editions one, two, two point five and three. He listens when I explain the subtleties between them, telling him how I like the combat from version three but the character building from version two and the inventory system from one. We spend hours cutting pages and pasting them together again, and make a better manual. 

And we talk. We talk every day, whenever we can. I start waking up earlier to catch him before he leaves for work at noon. He starts staying up later, talking me to sleep when I’m too tired to think straight, when I can’t even count my money without nodding off. We don’t talk about Rose and we don’t talk about my mom, but everything else is up for grabs and is grabbed. Our life stories, work, friends past and present (mine are sparse- his are more robust.) We swap books and we make fun of Jake’s accent and we go to the library together, every two weeks.

And it is soon the end of May and we are sitting on his couch, eating ice cream out of the carton. He’s in old Ghostbusters boxers, long past the point of giving a shit if I see the outline of him through the fabric. We were marathoning his movies for the last twelve hours, one after the next, and after a while he stopped providing commentary.   
“Where’s Dave? I thought he was pretty much always around.”

“His sister’s place.” We leave it at that. John comes back from every visit with no good news, typing at me at the speed of light. A few weeks ago, he stopped altogether. She doesn’t want to see me, he said, and I pretended I bought that. 

“We’ve spent a lot of time together recently,” he comments, eyes focused on the TV. Enough that I know the rhythm of his life. Enough that I know when he sticks his tongue out, just slightly, he’s thinking about something he can barely remember. Enough that he knows I stretch out on any surface offered, even if my arms end up on his thighs and my legs in the air. Enough that my feeling of knowing him forever is quickly becoming reality.

“Yeah.” It’s non committal, gracelessly out of my mouth, like sputum.

“Maybe we should do something about that.” He shrugs one shoulder, and I stab my spoon into the frozen center of Rocky Road. 

“Whatever. Do you want to?” I turn to face him, studying his eyes as he considers his next words carefully.

“If... if you wanted to?” He doesn’t look at me. He refuses, steadfastly, to look at me, blue eyes not really watching Mad Max.

“It could be cool. I wouldn’t write it off.”

“You think so?”

“John, you need to look at me.”

He doesn’t.

“John.” I try to sound on the edge of tough and sweet, I aim too far and he cringes. 

“I don’t- Vriska, I like you, and you’re really neat and everything, but I don’t date people who have... problems, like you.” He can’t look at me, curling harder into himself, knees almost to his mouth. It makes him look small, fragile, like a turtle missing its shell. His cheek sucks in and I realize he is biting it.

Sometimes, a lie is kinder than the truth.

“I quit.” I let that hang between us, heavy, waiting. This isn’t entirely untrue- I cut down a fuckload, just enough so my hands stay steady and I don’t walk around with everything but a literal black cloud betraying my mood. 

He turns.

And oh, does he smile. His glasses reflect Mel Gibson back at me, and I smile at him as well. He smiles, and he bites his lower lip, and he’s actually pretty godamn close to me now and then he’s on me, lips on mine, one of his hands moving to wrap around my waist and pull me in closer to him. It’s been a lifetime since anyone did this who I didn’t push away, who I didn’t call for Zahhak to punch out the door, practically, and I almost melt into him, catching myself in time to crawl onto his lap, pushing his shoulders back and leaning above him. My hair brushes his face and he swats it away.

“Hey, Vriska.” He says, grinning like an absolute idiot, blue lipstick smeared around his mouth.

“Hey, John.” I parrot back, kissing him again, rolling my shoulders down to cover him, his hands on my back and counting the notches of my spine, tapping up to my neck and then tangle in my hair. I move from his lips to his jaw to his neck, smiling through every motion. He jumps when I touch the hollow between neck and shoulder and I giggle, dizzy and ecstatic.

“This...” he moves, kissing my nose, “this is nice.” I cringe, almost instantly.

“Which means you want more.” 

“No! Not if you’re not- no. I’m a gentleman, Vriska.” He half-smiles at me and I wrap my arms around his back and pillow onto his sweaty chest.

This could work.

**Author's Note:**

> Beta tested by horsecocksandkneesocks.tumblr.com. Thank you for reading!!!


End file.
